


distill the life that’s inside of me

by waveydnp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Quarantine, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: Video games are a useful distraction, and writing is still a thing they try to do at least a little every day, but this? This isfun. This is dopamine and exercise and connection, and sometimes even a little adventure.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 252





	distill the life that’s inside of me

It comes to him slowly, the realization that he’s awake again. His eyes are heavy but the pain is mostly gone, replaced by something more dull. Mid afternoon naps are usually something he avoids, but that hardly matters anymore. Time has lost a lot of the meaning it once held. 

So he won’t sleep tonight. So he probably won’t get sleepy again til the morning sun’s light tinges the sky pink. It doesn’t matter. He’s got nowhere to be and no one to see but the same person he sees day in and day out, and that guy isn’t gonna be sleeping at night either. He never does.

Phil rolls onto his back and, speak of the devil, there Dan is, in the bedroom they share, the long curves of his naked body lit golden by the hour outside their window. 

Why is he naked? Phil’s brain is too foggy to work it out right away. His eyes are foggy too, glasses tossed off hours earlier so he could press his face into the pillow and sleep away the migraine that pounded at his temples. So he can’t see clearly, but he doesn’t need 20/20 vision to see that his man is stark nude on the other side of the room. He squints just in time to make out the vague shape of Dan’s ass as he bends over to pick something up off the floor.

“Oi,” Phil croaks, voice deep, rough, just how he knows Dan likes it. “Putting on a show?”

Dan makes a soft noise of surprise, but he’s too far away for Phil to make out his expression. “Fucking perv, m’trying to get dressed. You’re meant to be sleeping.”

“I was.” Phil slides a hand down into his Star Wars pjs and palms himself where he’s half hard, morning wood and naked Dan and maybe even just a little of those post-pain ecstasy hormones pumping through his blood. “Now I’m not.” 

Dan walks over to him, sits on the edge of the bed, shameless as he should be. Phil doesn’t pretend not to give him an up and down look, eyes lingering on the spot between his legs where he’s soft and pink and clean, the hair there trimmed to barely more than stubble. When he manages to wrench his gaze upward, he sees that Dan’s curls are wet enough that a drop of water drips down onto his shoulder. “You showered.”

“Astute.” Dan stokes his thumb across Phil’s jaw. It’s rough from a great many days of complete indifference to shaving, and it makes Dan smile. “You’re almost beardy, now.”

Phil turns his face into Dan’s hand and gives the fleshy bit beneath his thumb a little bite. He’s still got a hand down his trousers, and now that Dan’s right here in Phil’s space, his arousal is a little less hypothetical. He’s sure Dan knows, because Dan always knows, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he asks, “Feeling better?” 

Phil nods. Dan still doesn’t make a move to either walk away or aid Phil in his masturbatory endeavors, so Phil reaches out for him with a grabby hand. “C’mere.”

“Lemme find pants first,” Dan says.

“Absolutely not.” He lifts up the duvet to show Dan exactly the effect his nudity is having.

Dan smirks. “You wanker.” He climbs under the blanket and on top of Phil, leaning down to bite his jaw. “Literally.” 

Inside their cocoon of bedding it’s warm, and Phil wishes he was as naked as Dan. He’s still half asleep and desperately craving the feel of their skin pressed together. “Can you blame me?”

“I can,” Dan teases. “I do.”

“The first thing I saw when I woke up was you bent over with your ass spread open.” 

Dan snorts. “Wasn’t aware I had an audience, was I? I was just trying to find some fucking pants that don’t smell like dick.”

Dan’s unattractive words have no effect on Phil’s desire to kiss his mouth, so he does just that, hooking his arm round the back of Dan’s neck and pulling him down to lie flat on his chest. He licks into Dan’s mouth with no preamble and delights in the sharper breath of air Dan takes in through his nose. 

“You _are_ feeling better,” Dan murmurs. 

Phil reaches down to squeeze Dan’s ass. He’s not particularly gentle, mostly because he knows what that does to Dan. “This helps.”

“Sex as migraine therapy?”

“Does that mean you’ll have sex with me?” Phil sticks the tip of his tongue out and bites it on a cheeky smile.

Dan rolls his eyes. “A real hardship. What the fuck else is there to do?”

“You could write.”

“I’ve been writing all day.”

“You could play Seven.”

Suddenly Dan’s hand is shoved down into Phil’s pjs and cupping his cock and balls all at once with one gigantic hand. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” Phil says gleefully. “Maybe you should shut me up.”

Dan snorts again. “Please stop talking.”

Phil grins harder. “Maybe you should m—”

He is shut up fully when Dan’s other gigantic hand clamps down over his mouth, hard. He’s tempted to lick Dan’s palm or do something else equally idiotic, but he’s quite hard by now, quite ready for Dan to put his hands to use properly. Somehow Dan manages enough flexibility to hook a toe over the band of Phil’s trousers and pull them down. Phil helps kick them off when they get nearer his ankles, and the skin on skin contact is blissful. Dan’s is still the slightest bit damp from his shower and he smells clean, and Phil hopes perversely that by the time they’re done, he’ll be a lot wetter and a lot dirtier. 

There’s something about having Dan on him like this just after waking up that negates all of Phil’s impulse control, all the little shames and insecurities that might keep him from diving quite so head first into exactly what he wants. He’s got no filter. His dick is hard and his boyfriend is hot and willing, so why shouldn’t he flip them both over and pin Dan back against the mattress. Why shouldn’t he push Dan’s legs open and duck his head down to get his mouth on all the most intimate parts of him. He kisses Dan’s half hard cock and keeps going, pushing his balls up out of the way to get to the bit underneath it, the bit that always, always earns him a reaction.

He presses his tongue flat against Dan’s taint and Dan flinches. In a good way. Like his body can’t physically handle that much sensation all at once. He threads his fingers into Phil’s hair and encourages him not to stop, because even if he can’t handle it, he wants it.

Phil gets that. That’s kind of the definition of sex with Dan, always has been: way too much, and never ever enough. 

He’s happy he caught Dan straight out of the shower; they don’t get to do this nearly as often as either of them would like. It’s almost always easier - and more hygienic - to just lube up a finger or two, or even skip the penetration altogether. Blowjobs have gotten them far in life, and sometimes even less than that. Two world tours made for many a sexless night, and even on the few occasions they had the time and privacy for more, exhaustion usually robbed them of the inclination.

Quarantine has been something of a renaissance for the more ambitious aspects of their sex life. They’ve got all the time in the world now. All the privacy. 

And more often than not, more than enough inclination. Video games are a useful distraction, and writing is still a thing they try to do at least a little every day, but this? This is _fun_. This is dopamine and exercise and connection, and sometimes even a little adventure.

Phil tongues down lower and Dan tugs on his hair so hard it hurts. It’s an involuntary thing, Phil knows, one that indicates he’s doing a good job. He spreads Dan’s cheeks with his thumbs and revels in the trust Dan gives him for this, the most intimate of any of the intimate things they do together. Physically, anyway. It doesn’t get much more personal than licking someone’s asshole.

Dan makes a very sexy noise that has Phil grinding his dick down against the mattress. He’d do this forever if he had the patience, because he’s secretly convinced that eventually he could make Dan come from it without ever having to touch his dick, but he knows he’ll never be able to prove it. Because he doesn’t; he doesn’t have the patience. Not even close. 

And Dan knows it, which is why he’s pushing the lube down to Phil just a few minutes later. If Phil wasn’t half crazed with lust it might make him emotional, knowing Dan would cut short his very favourite sex thing just because he knows how much Phil is dying to get inside him. He promises himself that next time he’ll get himself off first so Dan can have his mouth for as long as he bloody well pleases, then uncaps the lube and drizzles it under Dan’s balls where it drips down his crack and makes a shiny mess of everything it touches. 

Phil opens him up with eager fingers, not as gently as he should, but he knows Dan likes it like that anyway. He’s crawled up Dan’s body by now, attached his mouth to Dan’s neck. He needs a second outlet for his horniness so he doesn’t tear Dan apart. Dan’s still got his fingers weaved into Phil’s fringe, and he yanks on it every time Phil rubs his stubbled chin against the most sensitive of Dan’s skin. 

“You’re gonna bring the migraine back if you keep pulling like that,” Phil rasps right up against Dan’s ear.

“Fuck you.”

“I was gonna fuck you, actually.” 

“So do it already.”

Phil bites Dan’s earlobe. He’s got two fingers three knuckles deep and his resolve to wait is pretty much non existent at this point, so he pulls those fingers out and replaces them with his cock in a move that is much more graceful and sure that anything he could ever hope to achieve when not being directed by pure carnal instinct.

He has enough restraint to slow down a little for this part, but only just. Dan’s eyes are squeezed shut tight as Phil pushes into him, one leg wrapped around Phil’s waist. If he wanted Phil to stop he’d say so, and he hasn’t, so Phil doesn’t. He sinks in until Dan’s body resists, then pulls out halfway and pushes in again. He keeps his eyes on Dan’s face and a hand on Dan’s hip, and when Dan finally speaks it’s just to say, “Go.”

So Phil goes, bareback and free and driven slightly mad for it. They’re seasoned professionals by now, and most of the time the mess of condomless sex just isn’t worth the effort. It’s a special thing, this kind of spontaneity, and the heightening in sensation is always more than Phil remembers it being. He can feel _everything_. 

And god, he loves it. It’s one of a very select handful of activities that allow his thoughts to distill, to slow his mind down to something resembling the meditative state he’s been told time and again by untold numbers of well-meaning friends he should be trying to achieve for the good of his mental health. He’s got no capacity to focus on his lexicon of anxieties when he’s experiencing pleasure this profound, when Dan is flushed and groaning underneath him, when the headboard keeps tapping against the wall. 

His elbows dig into the mattress on either side of Dan’s shoulders. Dan is clinging to the back of his neck, and the only thing between them is skin and sweat. They’re not kissing as much as Phil’s mouth is moving against Dan’s. Teeth catch lips, tongues brush indiscriminately. Dan says, “Harder,” and Phil doesn’t think he can. His chest is already heaving, the muscles in his back and thighs aching. It’s hot between their sheets, stiflingly so, and Dan’s skin is salty when Phil licks it.

“Harder,” Dan says again, more insistent.

“Shut up.”

Dan smiles, tilts his head back into the pillow stained a damp and darker grey. “Okay, old man,” he chuckles.

It’s true, Phil thinks. He’s older now. He’ll be proper sore after this, as if he went for a run or did a bunch of squats. He’d like to be the sort of person who is fit enough to fuck Dan exactly as hard as he likes to be fucked, but he just isn’t, not for more than a minute or two before he uses up all the strength he’s got in a momentary blaze of manliness or whatever the fuck. It used to make him insecure, but not now. Not really. Dan doesn’t want some hench stranger with bulging biceps and abs of steel. He just wants Phil.

And anyway, what Phil lacks in raw physicality he more than makes up for in his knowledge of what Dan _really_ needs to get off. 

Instead of speeding up, instead of trying to will himself to go harder, he slows. He pushes in and pulls out in measured movements that mean they both feel every slide and tug. He can hear every hitch of Dan’s breath, feel the heartbeat pounding under Dan’s ribs. 

He puts his mouth to Dan’s ear. “You want it harder?” and he can feel what it does to Dan in the way his body goes a little stiffer. Dan doesn’t respond except to reach down and push his palm flat against the small of Phil’s back, a move that says _I like this_ and _don’t stop_.

Phil reaches back to grab him around the wrist and guide his hand between them, smiling when Dan wraps his fingers around himself and pulls in short tugs at the head of his cock. Phil keeps up the slower pace though every cell in his body screams for the baser approach of pounding in and in and in until he’s filling Dan up. He can hit the right spot better like this, when he’s in control of himself enough to angle his thrusts in precisely the right way. 

The reward for his restraint is in the way Dan slowly falls apart. He’s keyed up and twitchy, biting his lip and making tiny little pained noises every time Phil slides into him. He works himself over in those punchy little tugs, and it’s worth it to Phil a thousand times over to take a few minutes to ignore his own need. 

When he can’t stand it any longer, he breathes into Dan’s ear again and asks, “You gonna come for me?”

Dan shudders, and a few sudden hard thrusts on Phil’s part have Dan moaning hot and quiet and spilling out all over his own stomach. 

Phil doesn’t even wait for him to come down. He’s used up the day’s quota of patience, and probably tomorrow’s too. He fucks Dan hard, maybe as hard as Dan had wanted earlier. He might feel bad about it later, but he’s not really operating of his own volition anymore. He knows Dan’s okay with it, and he’d stop if he wasn’t, but the implicit permission he has to use Dan’s body in the way his caveman brain needs to right now is really the only thing that exists to him for the thirty seconds it takes to push him over the edge. 

He pulls out right before he comes, a herculean feat of consideration that he will definitely demand to be praised for later, and adds to the mess on Dan’s stomach with orgasm-crazed glee. 

When it’s over he collapses next to Dan, who very diligently pushes the duvet off their bodies so as not to sully it with the filth of their mingling fluids. “You’re getting the towel,” Dan declares, and Phil whines about it shamelessly, but doesn’t argue before hauling himself up and over to the small mountain of them he’d left on the floor after his last shower. He wipes himself down then flings it at Dan, climbing back into his now damp bed and curling himself around the side of Dan’s body.

“That was nice,” he purrs, seriously considering closing his eyes and giving in to a second nap.

Dan hums his agreement, working his arm under Phil’s neck to pull him onto his chest and stroke his hair. “You smell,” he says matter of factly. 

“Your fault.”

Dan asks, “Why is everything my fault?” and Phil can’t see him, but he just knows he’s got a fond look of annoyance on his face.

“Because of your sexy butt.”

“Maybe if you actually did laundry once in a while I wouldn’t have to go searching the floor for wearable pants.”

Phil blows a raspberry right on Dan’s nipple before nuzzling up under his chin. “Pants are overrated.” 

“You’re not allowed to sleep.”

“Why?”

Dan tugs on Phil’s fringe, and Phil isn’t too blissed out to feel echoes of his recent migraine. “Because it’s your turn to make dinner and I’m fucking starving.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh your mum.” 

“Ugh your face,” is Phil’s brilliant retort.

Dan grins. “Just give me like half an hour and I will, gladly.”


End file.
